Verräterin
by dribblestheturtle
Summary: How can one nightly trip to a bar change a life? For the Basterds it changes for the better in form of arrogant and elegant German singer Mariza Hohenberg. But what does that have to do with anything and how is that going to happen? Read and find out. AU, obviously.
1. 19-03-1944, 5-30pm

**Author's Notes:** Hey there, so… Give my shit a shot, I know you wanna. Who can say no to a nice Nazi killin' story? Well, I can't.

**Disclaimer**: I'd be really honored to own em all, but sadly don't, I'm just borrowin' em for a bit of playin' and will gladly return em without too much damage.

_So sorry, I accidentally uploaded an old version which I wrote kinda drunk... This one is looked over and the mistakes which are obvious to me were removed. _

Sullivan Lake, Minnesota, USA March 1944

19-03-1944, 5-30pm

_The shack was surrounded to all cardinal points by a high hedge and was situated in the middle of a grassy green landscape. Sullivan Lake was extending itself at a distance in southeastern position of it. A storm was gathering and the strong gusts of wind promised a first class storm. If one saw the building by passing by, one could think it was an abandoned farm, but that was far from the truth._

Lt. Aldo Raine marches to and fro in front of a row of soldiers. He is about 6'2" tall, has a beefy well trained physique. His pitch black hair is short, still longer than the a few of the other men's, but considerably shorter than he was used to it. His face isn't raw, that would be an unfitting term through and through, but masculine with sharp edges and a slightly too prominent nose. The cold light blue eyes stand high in his face. There's a scar which graces his skin from his right eyebrow to a bit under his ear and another one on the front side of his neck which could be considered his trade mark. The slightly darker complexion is often mistaken to be a sign of a lot of work outdoors, but in truth is a sign for his unusual inheritance. He doesn't wear a uniform - a thing that would be expected from people his rank - but a dark green jacket, a black shirt and equally dark green pants which are tucked into jet black combat boots. On his belt there is a holster for a Beretta - strange enough for an American - and another one for his beloved knife, the one with the carved handle.

Standing before him are soldiers, not exactly newbies, but… It's war - that's all the Secret Service has to offer at this moment in time and he is sure, completely convinced, that these men are qualified. Behind him, his most qualified man and a person he would consider a friend, somewhat. He knows what this job is going to be like: waiting to strike and to strike hard. Another thing he knows is that soldiers don't like waiting - it makes them feel stuff they can gladly live without: remorse, anxiety. That's why he wanted Jewish recruits - it keeps the remorse to a minimum and consequently makes his job easier. Not that he looks for easy, no. He just doesn't like unnecessary complications such as human emotions. Luckily the men look eager, a thing that sometimes - often even - makes up for lack of experience. Then again, the krauts aren't really _expecting_ them, a tremendous advantage which he doesn't plan on wasting. He has a three weeks' time to get them combat-ready.

As he finishes his speech, he can't help thinking that he could have gotten far worse. As far as he can judge by now he hasn't gotten any overeager sick idiots nor any crazy fuckers. Those tended to catch his eye in a matter of minutes. Okay… His right hand man, Sgt. Donowitz is at the verge of insanity sometimes, but he knows that deep down the lad is a good one. He looks at the men and dismisses them for the rest of the evening. They just arrived and he wants them to settle down before he has his fun with them tomorrow. Donowitz and him had decided that they are going to see what the men can handle tomorrow. For now the two of them are helping themselves to a meal and a good glass of whiskey - each problem will be handled at a time and for now his top priority was his stomach demanding food.


	2. 03-03-1994, 03-15am

**Author's Notes:** Hey there, so… Give my shit a shot, I know you wanna. Who can say no to a nice Nazi killin' story? Well, I can't.

**Disclaimer**: I'd be really honored to own em all, but sadly don't, I'm just borrowin' em for a bit of playin' and will gladly return em without too much damage.

** LaFayette Mansion, France March 1944**

_ 03-03-1944, 03-15am_

A blond woman in a heavy navy blue coat walks up the steps to the mansion. It looks like it always does and still it makes her feel lonely. She is alone now, just the servants and herself. The Jewish family the mansion belonged to for generations is now safe, hopefully already on the ship to America. They left reluctantly, but knew that they would face worse if they stayed and the couple, Claude and Rebecca LaFayette, knew that they had to let go for the sake of her three young children: Jacob, 14, Zac, 13, and Noelle, 7. They trusted the woman to keep the mansion safe and relied on her to do the same with their former servants which they couldn't protect.

She takes a deep breath and enters the house. Now is not the time to ponder on how plainly unfair and cruel this all is. She throws her coat into the walk-in closet, then crosses the entrance hall towards the parlor. There they are. The maids, Lies and Karolina, two gypsies whose parents were shot when the Nazis took over. The caretaker Josef, a Jew who escaped from Innsbruck after the Anschluss and found work with the LaFayettes. They all look at her, expectantly. What they are expecting, she doesn't know. Do they think she is going to turn them in? Do they think she's going to kill them? No. That woman is German, yes, but that is the German that practically saved the LaFayettes, and the trio for that matter, from certain death on her own - a person not to mess with.

She faces them and smiles. They aren't completely at ease with her yet and she even understands them. She wouldn't be if she was in their situation. She clears her throat.

"Listen, and listen good," she begins in French even though she knows they all speak German, but wants them to see it as a sign of her good intentions, "I will say this one time and one time only, because from this very second on your life depends on your acting. I got you three fake papers, they are flawless, believe me. You are going to learn every single detail of your identity tonight - the details will be invented by yourself, but keep as close to things you know as possible. If you say you've lived in a city, know stuff about the city. If you say you've done this and that for a living, know what you're talking about. Fine?" she looks at them expectantly and they nod staring at her with big eyes, "Good. Now here, Lies, your name in front of other people will now be Claire Gaustod. You're 19." she hands the older girl the papers, "You were born in Amiens 17 years ago. Karolina, you're Sophie Gaustod from now on. You were born in Saint-Quentin shortly after your family moved there because of your father's Job. Both your parents are dead - father died in the Blitzkrieg and your mother after a long disease - pick which one." the younger girl takes a few tentative steps towards her and takes the passport, "-and Josef. You are from a little village in Tyrol. It's called Kramsach. You and your family came to Innsbruck when you were 4, but they died and you lived with your grandmother who passed away when you were 20 and after Germany occupied France you moved here. Your name's Michael Gartner and you're 31 now." Josef opens the passport and looks up. The person in the picture has far lighter hair than him.

"What's with the hair?" he asks.

"If you three don't have any other questions any more, I will ask you to drive me to my hotel. I'll officially arrive here tomorrow afternoon. We will take care of the hair in my hotel room." she smiles. "So?" Lies and Karolina eye each other and then Josef.

"No, Mademoiselle, no questions." Karolina speaks up, "And, Mademoiselle-" she looks at her intently, "thank you."

"You can call me Mariza in private." the woman smiles at her warmly, "And you are most welcome."

* * *

So, I thought that I won't just use names that don't mean a thing, so that's the names I used that refer to someone.

**Claude LaFayette** named after _Claus Schenk Graf von Stauffenberg_ (Stauffenberg plot)

**Karolina**that's what I would have been called if I was a cute child

**Josef (and his alias Michael)** my grandmother's older brother who died because of resistance against Hitler and my

greatgrandfather who hated it, but kept silent for his wife and nine children's sake

**Sophie Gaustod** named after _Sophie Scholl_, a student sentenced to death because of resistance with her brother

and fellow medical students who were part of the "_Weiße Rose_"

**Mariza Hohenberg** named after Emmerich Kálmán's protagonist in "Gräfin Mariza"


	3. 19-03-1945, 09-23pm

**Author's Notes:** Hey there, so… Give my shit a shot, I know you wanna. Who can say no to a nice Nazi killin' story? Well, I can't.

**Disclaimer**: I'd be really honored to own em all, but sadly don't, I'm just borrowin' em for a bit of playin' and will gladly return em without too much damage.

** Bar Châtelet, Paris, France March 1945**

_ 19-03-1945, 09-23pm_

The Châtelet is a little bar in the heart of Paris. It's kind of dimly lit and a comfy place for Frenchmen to escape the world outside for a few hours. Germans usually don't come here, too little light and too little awe of their uniforms. Much more of a surprise it was when word went round that German singer, Hitler's favorite even, Mariza Hohenberg, asked the owner if she could sing there.

He hadn't trusted her, but when she appeared in the little tavern two hours before it opened and had a short rehearsal with the jazz band which usually played there, he was awestruck. The woman in front of him wore different clothes than the ones he had seen her wear on the concert posters that littered the streets - her black sleeveless dress was long and wide and swayed when she walked or moved her hips to the beat and the denim jacket looked a bit mangy on the usually so elegant woman. She was also taller than he had thought, 5'9" if he guessed right and the eyes that he imagined to be the perfect Aryan blue were jet black. But that wasn't the only thing that seemed out of the picture; she didn't sing one of her own German songs but a wide variety of French and American jazz songs.

Her French was better than he expected; no gruesome German accent that he hated more than anything these days and she seemed far less overly self assured than most of her countrymen and women were. She joked with the band and seemed to have no superficial wishes - just a good glass of wine. He still eyed her every move as she made her way down the stage, because the bar was going to open soon and got onto one of the bar stools. She watched him clean a few glasses and place a glass of Cabernet Franc in front of her. She nodded with a sly smile and took a sip. After a few moments she looked back up and he was still staring at her.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing." he wove aside.

"No, honestly. What's wrong?" she laughed.

"You're different than I imagined you to be." he stated flatly.

"Never judge a book by its cover." she answered the unasked question while slipping down the bar stool while the first few people entered and made her way to the little stage.

* * *

Mariza smiles and bides Emanuelle good bye. Emanuelle grins and tugs her blonde shoulder long hair behind her ear. The singer has had a wonderful conversation with the woman about music, movies. The two seem to agree on many things and have agreed to meet again; tomorrow for lunch.

The German walks up to the bar again and seats herself on the bar stool in the corner of the tavern, eyeing two men in the opposite direction of herself. She doesn't know why, but they seem out of place. One of them has dark brown uncombed hair and from what she can guess brown eyes. He wears a gruff expression while the dark blonde man smiles slightly. They talk silently and from what she can tell out of her angle at least one of them is armed. She takes a few sips of her third Cabernet Franc and lets her eyes wander over the rest of the place. Out of the corner of her eyes she sees the blonde give the owner a sign that he wants to pay. She takes another sip and when the owner comes back, she also wants to pay but the owner refuses to let her. In the end she leaves the money on the bar, because the men are just slipping out of the door.

She walks out into the streets of Paris and slips the shoes off her feet. Keeping her distance, she follows them silently down countless alleys out of the city. The streets seem unnaturally silent today; no Nazis patrolling around. It isn't long until she recognizes the way they are walking. Her home, the LaFayette Mansion, is the only house near where they are heading. Now her interest is piqued. What could those men want near her house? They walk on and on, the men ahead of her talking now again. In the silence of the empty road towards her house, she can clearly hear that they are talking. The brown haired one sounds Tyrolean like Josef and the other one has an odd accent she can't really place. About 10 minutes after they have passed the roadway up to the La Fayette Mansion, the two of them get off the road and walk along the fence of the estate for a while before disappearing into the forest. After debating with herself for a moment, she follows them behind the tree line.

* * *

**A/N: **Now, I know that Archie just meets the Basterds shortly before the meeting with Bridget Von Hammersmark and that they meet in Nadine, but this is fanfiction _and_ AU, so let me have my fun.


	4. 19-03-1945, 11-37pm

**Author's Notes:** Hey there, so… Give my shit a shot, I know you wanna. Who can say no to a nice Nazi killin' story? Well, I can't.

**Disclaimer**: I'd be really honored to own em all, but sadly don't, I'm just borrowin' em for a bit of playin' and will gladly return em without too much damage.

Paris, France March 1945

19-03-1945, 11-37pm

Mariza blinks to adjust to the complete darkness of the forest, but barely can see any further than an arm's length away from her. Suddenly she feels the distinctive feeling of a blade pressed lightly against her throat. Her breath hitches – she hasn't bargained for that, even though it is a rather evident conclusion to draw. It would have been crazy to think that the men haven't heard her following them, no matter how cautious she has been. Now, another body is pressed against her back and an arm is holding her own ones in a tight grip on her back.

"Denken Sie nicht einmal daran, einen Mucks zu machen, Mädchen." says the Austrian. The woman snorts indignantly instead of an actual answer and stands still, "Wer sind Sie?"

"Mariza und du?" she asks.

"Mariza wie, hm?" he prods.

"Mariza Hohenberg, du Scheißkopf. Vor 'ner Weile habt ihr mir doch noch zugehört, also lass los.", she spits.

"Mariza Hohenberg? Die deutsche Sängerin?" the one with the funny accent gives notice of himself.

"Nein, Hitler, wer sonst?" she pipes up sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

"Hohenberg wie Oberst Hohenberg, das kleine Arschgesicht?" the Austrian asks.

"Ja. Und wer seid ihr Spinner?" she answers.

"We should kill her. Now." the Austrian says.

"I think your Lieutenant should make that decision." the one with the accent says. Now that he's speaking English, Mariza can clearly hear he's an Englishman.

"I can still understand you, you fucking idiots." she pipes up, "Just cause I'm German doesn't mean I can't speak a few other languages. So, who the fuck are you arseholes?"

"Oh, I am sure you heard from us." the Austrian laughs drily.

"Hm. You are Austrian and you are an Englishman. Which makes me believe that you couldn't possibly be part of the infamous group of Americans the maniac of a brother refers to as the Basterds." she taunts.

"See, doll, and that's where your smartass way of thinking goes wrong." responds the Austrian, "Come."

He drags Mariza along, the knife still at her neck. Who is that girl? He doesn't like her, that's for sure. He eyes the Englishman, who doesn't seem all too happy about the way he treats the Fräulein. Tha, Fräulein! God, he gets sick at the thought of how many nazi cocks that girl probably did have to suck to be that successful – that isn't sheer luck. The man tries to kill the voice in the back of his head which tells him that he's being a dick and that he heard her sing – she's quite good. _But what does Hitler's favorite little blondie do in a slightly ruddy French bar singing American jazz songs? _Nags the voice. He wants it to shut the fuck up. He wants to be hateful right now. It's Mariza fucking Hohenberg, which American – and Jew for that matter - wouldn't hate her? Her brother is one of the most feared Nazi Colonels whose name stands on the Basterd's list directly next to the Jew Hunter's. The girl is as well known as her brother: with just 24 years of age she is the most booked and famous singer Germany has ever put forth. Her face is known everywhere, thousands of girls want to be as blonde, as curvy and as fair skinned as her. Even her eyes are blue as the sky. Those thoughts don't do anything for the Austrian's temper though, they just infuriate him further.

When they reach camp, Aldo and the others are still all up, sitting around the fire talking and laughing. Aldo spots them first, a frown set upon his face as soon as his eye land on the girl.

"What have you brought us with you there, Wicki?"

"A Hohenberg. She found it intelligent to follow us around." the Austrian answers in a steady calm voice, surprised that he can contain from letting his temper get the better of him. He knows his Lieutenant well enough to be aware that he doesn't like it when his men make their revengeful bloodthirstiness the top priority over being in their right mind and endangering others through that. The others' talking has died down now and they are focusing on the arriving three: their fellow Basterd, the Englishman and the blonde girl.

"She followed ya? Well, well-" he said while walking towards them, Wicki's knife at it's place at Mariza's throat, "what'r we gonna do with ya, blondie?" He twirled a strand of her hair between his fingers and walked around her and the Austrian.

"Kill ya, pro'ly a good fuckin' idea…" he muses, walking away from her towards the fire where the men are sat, "What d'ya think, Hirschberg?"

"Sounds damn good to me, Lieutenant!" laughs the Private which earns him a few encouraging shouts from his fellow men.

"Ya speakin' any English, doll?"

"Actually I do. I'd find it quite interesting to see your attempt on the German language, though." she smiles.

"Ah, ya've got yerself some balls 'ere, dear." he laughs. His laugh isn't pleasant, she finds herself thinking. "Wicki, you can leave her be now." he commands towards the man holding the girl before turning his attention to her, "Sit down, girl."

"So, I'm getting the famous speech now?" she says after plopping down on the ground near the fire and crossing her arms in front of her chest. She looks at the men. They don't look as threatening as she has imagined to. Three of them look at her with unhidden disgust, but she could always handle open hate towards her person better than the opposite of it. The tall one looks like he's ready to kill her. The short one next to her gives her a shy smile which she returns kind of gladly – no need to whip the hate up. The two who have captivated her talk silently with the man who seems to be the leader. The men are dead silent, staring at her. She isn't afraid, she tells herself, because that's exactly what they want and she doesn't want to give them that satisfaction. The three men have finished talking now and the leader walks up to her again and sits down in front of her cross-legged.

"So, blondie, I'm rather conf'dent that ya've heard a gr-e-at deal 'bout us, haven't ya?" he slurs in what she thinks to be a slightly creepy Southern accent.

"Oh, so you're interested in Nazi pillow talk?" she smiles.

"If that's where ya gettin' your information from, blondie." he conters with a sly smile playing on his lips.

"No, it's not." she says amusedly.

"What've ya pretty little thing heard 'bout us?"

"You are the Basterds, a group of Americans who was sent here to kill as many Nazis as you can possibly manage to." she pauses for effect, then continues in a stern voice, "You are Lt. Aldo Raine. I assume that fellow over there who was so kind as to bring me here is Cpl. Wilhelm Wicki since he is Austrian." she pauses again then fixes her eyes on the tall man who still stares at her intimidatingly, "I guess that charming little guy here is Sgt. Donowitz." she smiles and then fixes her eyes upon the group of three men, "PFC Hirschberg, that's you." she points at the one in the middle, "The other two of you are called Kagan and Sakowitz, both PFC's too, I assume." then she turns to the man who has smiled at her before, but eyes her warily now, "PFC Utivich, I think." then she turns around again to face the second of her captivators, "I don't know who you are yet, but you don't belong here, you're an Englishman."

"Fine observer, blondie. Who's told ya that hell load of interesting stuff?"

"An 'acquaintance' who rambles on and on about his greatness. He has the joy to question the Privates you mark and let go and I remember the stuff I find interesting." she answers nonchalantly.

"Ya acquaintances with ol' Adolf?" the leader asks incredulously.

"No, duh, Hitler gives a shit about what you're doing here. It might spoil a dinner appointment for him and maybe cost him a few nights' sleep, but he feels damn safe in his big house in Berlin."

"Ah, sad sad. That really hurts our feelin's a d-a-mn lot, right guys?" he laughs what is meet with a few laughs, "Enough o'the fun stuff. Let's get down to bus'ness. See, we're kinda caught between the fuckin' devil 'n the d-ee-p blue sea, right? Cause ya found our base 'n we can't fuckin' afford ya to run off to ya fuckin' Nazi brother 'n tell 'im shit, got it so far? So, Nazi broad, what're we s'pposed t'do now? 'Cause see, we ain't big on killin' women or children, that's Nazi bus'ness. 'N you're an entertainin' one at that."

"Well, I don't see the problem. Don't kill me." she says matter-of-factly. Suddenly, there's a noise coming from the trees surrounding them. A few of the men draw their weapons and point them towards where the noise came from. Then, a tall man with blonde really short hair emerged from the trees and the men put their guns away.

"'Ah, Stiglitz, what'a ya say 'bout killin' that d-a-mn nice German broad we have got us 'ere?"

The addressed man walks closer towards them and eyes the female captivate suspiciously. As he comes closer he blinks once, twice- Then he shakes his head and lets out a laugh, what confuses the other Basterds quite a lot - that isn't exactly the behavior they are used to from their German brother of sorts. Also the girl looks slightly startled.

"No." he responds.

"What 'r my ears hearin' 'ere, Stiglitz?" Lt. Raine asks. Surely he must have misunderstood his man. The blonde was always eager at the chance of killing some Germans.

"I just suggest that killing that girl wouldn't be a good move." is all the Lieutenant gets for an answer.

" 'N why's that?"

"Because there aren't many people I know who hate Nazis more than her." his response comes quickly, leaving all of the men quite startled.

* * *

**Translations: **

_Denken Sie nicht einmal daran, einen Mucks zu machen, Mädchen. _Don't even think about making a sound, girl.

_Wer sind Sie?_ Who are you?

_Mariza und du?_ Mariza and you?

_Mariza wie, hm? _Mariza what?

_Mariza Hohenberg, du Scheißkopf. Vor 'ner Weile habt ihr mir doch noch zugehört, also lass los. _Mariza Hohenberg, you shithead. You've just been listening to me a few moments ago, so let go.

_Mariza Hohenberg? Die Deutsche Sängerin? _Mariza Hohenberg? The German singer?

_Nein, Hitler, wer sonst?_ No, Hitler. Who else?

_Hohenberg wie Oberst Hohenberg, das kleine Arschgesicht?_ Hohenberg like Colonel Hohenberg, the little fucker?

_Ja. Und wer seid ihr Spinner?_ Yes. And who are you madmen?


	5. 20-03-1945, 01-02am

**Author's Notes:** Hey there, so… Give my shit a shot, I know you wanna. Who can say no to a nice Nazi killin' story? Well, I can't.

**Disclaimer**: I'd be really honored to own em all, but sadly don't, I'm just borrowin' em for a bit of playin' and will gladly return em without too much damage.

**20-03-1945, 01-02am**

"So, Nazi broad, ya wan' a deal?" the Lieutenant asks.

"Stop calling me a _Nazi broad_, you imbecile." she huffs. Americans weren't really known for their manners, but she expected at least some sort of respect. Then again, those men were happy with the name the Germans gave them – the Basterds – who is she to expect _anything_ from them?

"Fine, girly, how 'm I s'pposed t' call ya, then, huh?" he laughed. That Nazi chick is a decent catch, he is sure of that. She has fire, doesn't bow – he likes that.

"Well, my name is Mariza."

"Yeah, fine Mary, girl, so what's ya plan, huh?" he demands. The woman rolls her eyes to the name, but doesn't comment. At least it's not _Nazi broad_ any more. She eyes the men - who are all sitting around the campfire now, Mariza, Raine, Stiglitz, Hicox and Wicki amongst them - again. Now that she focuses on it, they look rather worn out and a bit too pale - for their skin tone, anyways - to be healthy. Their clothes are torn and disgustingly dirty, their faces and hair not much better.

"Your men look horrible. I have a big house with bathrooms, beds, food…" she pauses and notes the longing looks on the men's faces before she continues, "It's your choice entirely, really."

"Ya forgot 'em loads o' Nazis lurkin' back there, doll. What d'ya think we'r? Stupid?" Lt. Raine laughs.

"There are no Nazis _lurking_ anywhere near my house. If my word doesn't count, ask those two." Mariza retorts pointing in the general direction of Wicki and Hicox with her hand. The Lieutenant looks at them and after considering it they both nod their consent wordlessly.

"'N who says there aren' any damn Nazi fuckers in tha' 'ouse of yours, huh?"

"The only people inside that house except for me are a total of three servants." she answers thinking it best not to lie to the man.

"'N I bet those servants 'r some da-a-mn dashin' blonde Germans, huh, Mary dear?" he folds his arms, "The ones who'll run 'n get ya little Nazi brother at firs' sight o' us, right?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, one of them really is blonde, but not naturally so. He's a Jew, from Austria I believe. The other two are gypsies, so." the woman replies nonchalantly.

"O' course, darlin', If ya say so." the leader laughs obviously not believing her, "'N let's think for a moment, I said yes. Why'd ya do tha?"

"Cause quite frankly, I find your mission quite more agreeable to than the one this mass murderer and his vermin are on." she huffs crossing her arms in front of her chest. A moment goes by and Hugo Stiglitz suddenly laughs shaking his head, then wraps his arm around the woman sitting next to him.

"It really _is_ you, then. I thought he locked you up - or carted you off, for that matter."

"I'm a little more persistent than that, you of all people should know, shouldn't you?" she smiles slightly.

The men are all too shockingly surprised to say anything, really.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm sorry that this one took so long... And is so fucking short.


End file.
